


Be still my foolish heart (don't ruin this on me)

by LilithReisender



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale is in denial, Drunken discussions, Fluff, Historical, Historical Figures, In a world where Robin Hood was real, Kissing, M/M, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Pre-apocawasn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:01:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22837465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilithReisender/pseuds/LilithReisender
Summary: Aziraphale had a simple mission: Work for King Richard. Spread Her light and goodness. Which was how he found himself on day two of a three day carriage ride having read through his books once already and waiting to arrive in Sussex to assist some nuns in their illuminations. It was a calm and, well,boring,journey. Or at least it was, until suddenly his carriage was stopped suddenly by men demanding anything of value that he had with him. Who else could be sowing discord in this area other than a very specific demon?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 72





	Be still my foolish heart (don't ruin this on me)

**London, England, 1178 C.E.**

The carriage jostled down the dirt road, sending Aziraphale's books sliding across the bench in front of him. He sighed and leaned forward, putting them back in their place and wishing he could use a _small_ miracle to ensure that they wouldn't be thrown about by the uneven road. This work as a royal scholar wasn't usually uneventful, and Aziraphale knew that he should be happy to be doing the Lord's work in England, but frankly Aziraphale had found himself to be quite... well, _bored_ with this particular aspect of his work. It would be so simple to just snap his fingers so that the horses pulling his carriage might have more energy and could move faster; or even better, he could simply fly there himself. Alas, Gabriel had strictly ordered Aziraphale to be a bit more frugal in his usage of miracles, and this time he had specified in no uncertain terms that there would be no more heavenly-aided travel. Which was why Aziraphale was on day two of a three day journey from Nottingham to Sussex having read through his book pile once already. The carriage lurched to the left, and Aziraphale resisted the urge to miracle the path just a little bit smoother. Gabriel couldn't object too much to a benevolent act of public service now could he? Aziraphale shook his head and turned his attention back to his book, grateful that he had at least _some_ form of entertainment.

Out of nowhere, Aziraphale heard the horses start whinnying frantically, and the carriage was suddenly pulled to a dead halt, sending the angel flying into the seats across from him. Really, these humans needed to invent a better way of doing all this travelling. _Why had they stopped?_ It wasn't nearly sunset, when Aziraphale would usually insist that they rest and let the poor horses take a break. He heard a muffled voice from outside, and Aziraphale pressed his ear up against the carriage wall to try and make out what was being said. He could vaguely make out the footman's high voice and another voice, much deeper and louder than that of the fragile old footman. There was something else too, a familiar tugging feeling in his chest, but Aziraphale pushed it aside, dismissing it as mere nerves.

"We have it on good authority that this carriage is carrying priceless artefacts," The deep voice said, loud enough for Aziraphale to make out his words easily. "Give us anything of value and we will be on our way." There were more muffled words from the footman and then there was silence. Aziraphale pushed himself against the back of the carriage, a sense of dread sinking in his stomach. He had heard stories of bandits and thieves who lurked on the sides of more-travelled roads, but he hadn't thought they would dare go near a royal carriage. Clearly he had been wrong.

There was a loud knock from Aziraphale's right and then the carriage door burst open, sending sunlight streaming into the dim space.

"Get out." A gruff voice said, pulling Aziraphale by the shoulder. He blinked, trying to get his human eyes to adjust to the bright daylight of the woods. "Now," the man spoke. He was large, far larger than Aziraphale. He was dressed in brown and green cloth that Aziraphale assumed was to hide him from the sight of anyone who happened to be travelling on this road. He held up a small dagger and brandished it at Aziraphale, keeping the tip a few centimeters from the angel's neck. "if you would be so kind as to give us anything of value, we would be happy to let you go on with your life. However, if you resist..." the man gestured with his knife, he didn't have to say anything else for Aziraphale to get the message.

"I do so hate to admit this," Aziraphale said slowly, looking the large man in the eyes. "I'm afraid you have the wrong carriage for this sort of activity. I am simply a scholar on his way to assist some monks with their illuminations."

"Yet you ride in a fine carriage, with even finer horses, and underneath the flag of King Richard."

"And you will find nothing of value to men like you in any of it," Aziraphale said pointedly. "All I carry with me are clothes and books." The man looked at Aziraphale skeptically, then whistled loudly. Another man came out from the woods, dressed in a long black coat, black hat to shadow his face, and black britches and boots as well. Aziraphale couldn't get a good enough look at his face, as the man immediately climbed up his carriage and began to throw his luggage on the ground. Aziraphale flinched as his bags landed with a heavy thud, lamenting the poor care of his precious books. The man dressed in black hopped off the carriage with inhuman grace, and Aziraphale was able to get a better look at his features. He wore a black mask over the top half of his face, and his eyes were shielded by what appeared to be black lace over the eye-holes. Aziraphale could have sworn that he saw the man smirk at him, but his attention was quickly drawn away by the large man, who pressed the dagger even closer to his throat.

"See something interesting over there?" The large man sneered.

"Nothing of import," Aziraphale said hurriedly. He was growing impatient with this whole process, he was expected to arrive on time, and he really didn't want to have to explain to the Sisters why he was late. There was the sound of tearing fabric and shuffling paper, and Aziraphale decided that at that point enough was enough. He turned to face the man, stepping so that the dagger was against his throat.

"You will put down your weapon and call of your man." Aziraphale said, the man's eyes began to glaze over. "You will no longer steal from innocent people based on rumors alone. You are going to go back to wherever you came from and... help take care of people."

The man lowered the knife from Aziraphale's throat and dropped it on the ground.

"I'll- I'll go back and take care of the camp. Will and Robin might need help." He looked in the direction of the man in black, who was staring at both of them. "Oy. Just leave it. Nothing worth taking here." The large man wandered off into the woods and Aziraphale exhaled with relief. Gabriel would understand the usage of a miracle to turn a thief towards the light. However, there was still the issue of the other man, who was coming towards Aziraphale. There it was again, that familiar tugging in his chest. Now that he was closer, Aziraphale could make out his features more clearly: the sharp turn of his lips, the barely hidden cheekbones, the lock of red hair that was falling out from underneath his hat- Aziraphale crossed his arms.

"Of course this was _you,_ " Aziraphale said as the man got closer. "I don't know why I'm surprised." The man untied his mask to reveal saffron colored eyes, and he laughed upon seeing Aziraphale's expression.

"Wondered when you would figure it out," Crowley chuckled.

"Did you know it was me in there?" Aziraphale asked. Crowley only laughed harder. "Really? All of this drama for a prank? I would be willing to bet that man who just left wasn't even the one in charge of the operation, he was just working for you, wasn't he?" Crowley winked at him, and Aziraphale glared.

"Got to have my fun somehow," Crowley defended himself, leaning against the side of the coach. "Heard you were on your way through here, and I haven't seen you since... when was it?"

"That tourney with King Arthur," Aziraphale answered.

"Ah, yes. You looked good in the knight's garb might I add." Crowley winked at him, and Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "But clearly that's changed," Crowley continued, looking Aziraphale up and down, "playing scholar now are we?"

"I am doing work for King Richard. Spreading knowledge and light throughout England."

"And _I'm_ working for Richard- well, I'm not working against him. Only I'm stealing from the wealthy men and helping with an uprising. Our sides really need to coordinate who's working for whom up here. We end up with the same people on both sides more often than not. But I guess that's humans for you."

"Well, it was great to see you Crowley, but if you would put my luggage back I need to be on my way.

"And not stay for lunch?" Crowley offered, raising one eyebrow in a perfect arch. "I mean really, how _urgent_ is helping nuns copy some old gospels when both of us know that good ol' John was having a little bit too much fun with his mushrooms when he was writing." Aziraphale looked back at the carriage, just now noticing that the old footman was missing.

"He's already at my camp with the others. _Angel,_ " Crowley insisted, "you might as well stop and rest for a while. Come eat, we can catch up."

"Well," Aziraphale pondered, "if I'm busy here with you, then you can't possibly be doing any nefarious work for Hell. In fact," Aziraphale met Crowley's gaze and smiled, "one might say that I _should_ go with you to keep you from committing any more robberies."

Crowley winked.

Crowley's camp was only a ten minute walk from the main road, where Aziraphale had left the carriage and horses to rest. He had expected something along the lines of what Crowley usually went for: a small team, maybe ten men total, a few tents, and a fireplace. What he saw instead seemed to be more of an impromptu village. There were women and children everywhere, laughing, walking, learning to throw weapons. And there were far more than ten men. The place was so filled with life that Aziraphale could hardly believe that it had been hidden so well from the road. He had a suspicion that a certain demon was assisting in them.

"Who _are_ all these people?" Aziraphale whispered, leaning into Crowley's side.

"Ah! Mr. Crowley! I see you have returned- and with a guest." A red-haired man with a bow slung over his shoulder made his way to them and shook Aziraphale's hand eagerly. "Welcome, friend. I am Robin of Locksley. These are my merry men- and women." He laughed, and then shook Crowley's hand amicably. "I see that your little expedition went a bit different then planned."

"Ran into an old friend." Crowley replied, nudging Aziraphale with his shoulder. "Just catching up a bit before he heads off again."

"Of course, any friend of yours is more than welcome here," Robin said. He leaned in towards Aziraphale conspiratorially, "don't let that man trick you into staying longer than you should. He has a natural way convincing people, especially when it seems there's something he wants."

"Don't I know it." Aziraphale replied, a bit cheekily. There was something about this camp that made him feel- _happy._ The people, despite having very little amongst themselves, seemed to genuinely love this place. It was infectious. It ran in the air like a current until Aziraphale couldn't help but be affected by it.

"Aziraphale, didn't I say something about lunch?" Crowley interrupted, his voice a tad bit higher than normal. "Nice to see you Robin, but I'm going to- yeah." Crowley grabbed Aziraphale's wrist and practically dragged him away.

"Mead?" Crowley offered, handing Aziraphale a wooden goblet. Aziraphale took a sip before speaking.

"What is this place? Who are all these people?"

"Outlaws." Aziraphale looked around incredulously.

"What, all of them?"

"Yup." Crowley's voice dripped with sarcasm. "The worst of the worst. _Tax evaders_. Don't get too close now, they might corrupt your angelic nature."

"I had heard that things were bad in some areas, but I had never imagined..."

"That people are greedy and get off on taking advantage of the poor," Crowley said dryly. "Believe it angel. Not all humans are as virtuous as you would wish."

"I may be an angel, but I'm not naïve. I know full well how humans can be. But I'm not supposed to interfere in cases like this." Aziraphale said, feeling wretched. He helped where he could, but there were so many humans, and he was the only angel on earth at the moment. Crowley sighed and threw one arm over Aziraphale's shoulders. Aziraphale might have moved out of the demon's grasp except that, well, it felt nice.

"I know, Aziraphale." Crowley whispered into Aziraphale's ear. Suddenly the demon was away from him and was downing a full goblet of mead. "Look, we can stand here and complain about work all day, or we can eat, drink, and catch up a bit." Crowley handed Aziraphale plate with a turkey leg on it and led him back to a tent on the edge of the camp that Aziraphale assumed was Crowley's. They sat down on two blankets that were hanging over a fallen tree and quickly fell back into their usual pattern of conversation.

"That Robin bloke, is he in charge?" Aziraphale asked. He was sitting on the ground now, slightly drunk and leaning against Crowley's arm, and while he wasn't sure how he had gotten in that position he found that he certainly didn't have any desire to leave it.

"Yeah." Crowley slurred, well and properly sloshed by now. "He was this nobleman's son who went away for the war, and he promised that when he came back he would marry this one girl- Mary, Marion, something like that. Anyways, there was this sheriff who had come along and taken over his father's land and said that _he_ would try to marry the girl."

"Oh dear! I can't imagine that went over very well."

"It did not," Crowley agreed. "Then there was a bunch of other stuff that happened where Robin messed around with the Sheriff and got kicked off his own land, I wasn't there for that bit. All I know 's that Hell said," Crowley dropped his voice an octave, _"there's to be a peasant rebellion. Make sure, you're there._ So here I am."

Aziraphale hummed in agreement, leaning his head back against the trunk of the tree and looking up into the quickly dimming sky.

Wait.

Aziraphale shot up. He hadn't been here that long had he? He had thought that he might have been here only two hours, yet the sun was beginning to set, so clearly he had been sitting here with Crowley for far longer than he had intended.

"Angel, what's wrong?" Crowley said, leaning forward.

"I'm dreadfully sorry, my dear. It appears that I have stayed for far too long. Let me just grab the footman and I'll be on my way." He scanned the camp, searching for any sign of the old man in the crowd around the firepit.

"What's the rush?" Crowley said, leaning back against the tree. "I'm certain the nuns will be just fine without your presence for another day. Besides, I don't think you'll be finding that footman of yours, he seemed quite taken with one of the older women here." Aziraphale sighed and sat back down next to Crowley, giving in without protest. Crowley was right, of course, he doubted he would be getting anywhere until morning even if he tried. Better to stay here than continue on for a few hours and stop again on the side of the road where there was no warm food or mead or, well, no decent company as well. The footman was agreeable enough, but they didn't talk, and even when they did it was just a matter of whether or not they would stop for the evening. It wasn't like with Crowley, whom he could talk to openly and without fear of revealing his true nature. Crowley, Aziraphale realized suddenly, was probably the only being in the world whom he could call more than a passing acquaintance. The demon was Aziraphale’s closest friend. There were angels who he got along with well enough, but he never spent any time with them, never talked about anything that truly mattered. But Crowley had been there from the beginning. Despite the demon’s nature, he was always there when Aziraphale needed him most. His heart fluttered at the thought. It was dangerous, it was _forbidden,_ but...

"Oy, Aziraphale." Crowley snapped his fingers in front of Aziraphale's face, bringing the angel out of his thoughts. "You still here?"

"Yes. Quite. Sorry, I seem to have lost my train of thought for a moment. I do believe I'll stay until sunrise, that is, if you'll have me." Aziraphale could have sworn that Crowley blushed at his words. The demon must have had more mead than Aziraphale had thought.

"'course," Crowley muttered, ducking his head a bit so that Aziraphale couldn't see his face. Aziraphale nudged him and the demon looked up, wearing an expression that Aziraphale couldn't read. He held Crowley's gaze, shifting forward slightly. Crowley inhaled sharply and turned away, shaking his head slightly.

"Anyways, what was I saying?" Aziraphale blinked, trying to remember what they had been talking about.

"I believe it might have been something about a peasant uprising," Aziraphale said, taking a bite out of a piece of bread that was on a cloth next to him.

"Right. That. So, I come here expecting the place to be filled with people who hate the royals, you know, the usual masses to drive wild. What I find instead is this group lead by a former nobleman who _adores_ the king, he just hates the Sheriff of one town." Aziraphale laughed, and _whatever_ had happened in those few minutes was gone.

They talked until the sun began to rise, when Aziraphale found the footman asleep against a tree stump and told him to head back to the carriage so they might be on their way. Aziraphale lingered behind for a few minutes, sending a quick blessing to the people in the camp. They would find food easily today, and the sick would find themselves feeling better.

"Leaving already?" Crowley said from behind him, making Aziraphale jump in surprise.

"I've already stayed too long I'm afraid," Aziraphale said sadly. "I'd best be going, otherwise they might send a letter back to Richard wanting to know where I am."

"Let me at least follow you out. I'll make sure no one robs you on your way back to the carriage." Aziraphale rolled his eyes and Crowley laughed. "Come on then." Crowley led Aziraphale to the edge of the woods, where the footman was waiting with his carriage. He stopped at the edge of the woods and turned back to face Crowley. He let his gaze linger for a moment before looking away slightly. Parting was usually difficult, especially as he never knew when they would see each other next.

"I- I guess this is goodbye then. Until we meet again, my dear."

"See you soon, angel." Aziraphale turned and took a step forward, when a hand wrapped around his wrist and pulled him back sharply. Crowley held Aziraphale's wrist with one hand, and with the other, he reached up to cup Aziraphale's face. Aziraphale shuddered at the touch, and Crowley stepped closer.

"Tell me to stop," Crowley whispered. "One word from you and I'll leave." Aziraphale said nothing, holding his breath and finding himself not willing to reject what he suspected would come next. Crowley leaned forward and gently, so softly Aziraphale would have thought he had imagined it, he pressed his lips to Aziraphale's own. Aziraphale closed his eyes, but it was done as quickly as it had started. Crowley released his hold on Aziraphale, backing up quickly. He met Aziraphale's gaze one more time and winked before disappearing back into the woods.

Aziraphale stepped onto the road and into the carriage, knocking twice on the wall to tell the footman to start the horses. The carriage lurched forward, getting back up to speed, but Aziraphale hardly noticed the jostling of the carriage. They had kissed before, when time and culture had allowed it, but he had forgotten- no, he hadn’t let himself remember how good it felt to have the demon pressed against him. Aziraphale pressed his hand up to his lips, where he could still feel the ghost of the demon's kiss. “Do take care, Crowley,” Aziraphale said to the empty carriage. “I won’t have you getting discorporated for something as ridiculous as supporting tax evaders.” Has he not known better, Aziraphale would have sworn that he could hear Crowley laughing in the distance. He smiled and picked up his book right at where he had left off the day before. He still had quite a journey to make after all, and nothing better to do. He certainly didn’t spent the rest of the carriage ride replaying the kiss in his mind and wishing that he had the courage to stay for just a little while longer.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Hozier's _Almost (Sweet Music)_  
>  1) As always, if you spot any grammar mistakes, please tell me. My computer can be incredibly difficult to edit on sometimes, and I miss things.  
> 2) Do I have a WIP I should be writing and exams I should study for? Yes. Did I write a random 3K one-shot anyways? Yes.  
> 3) Thank you to Sesana for betaing this for me!  
> 4) Thank you to everyone who has read and liked this. You guys are wonderful, and hearing from you lights up my day.  
> <3  
> Find me on Tumblr at [alltheprettygirlsintheworld](https://alltheprettygirlsintheworld.tumblr.com/)


End file.
